


Silence is Not Golden

by ranguvar82



Series: Silence and Strength [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley collects Music Boxes Instead of Plants, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Mute Crowley, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: Once upon a time, there was an angel who sang the very galaxies into existence. Once upon a time, there was another who was built to guide and protect. Then the Singer's Voice was ripped from him, and he was cast down. Now the angel made to protect has met the demon without a Voice.  But have they met before? Aziraphale can't remember.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Silence and Strength [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630903
Comments: 56
Kudos: 354





	1. Silence Falls

Chapter 1: Silence Falls

EARTH: NOW

Crowley still remembers the exact moment they came for him. It's a memory that is seared into his very soul, no matter how many times he begs Her to make him forget, to give him this one reprieve, this tiny mercy. But there is no mercy. Not for him. Never for him. He only has to look at the scarred monstrosity that is his throat, and the memories come flooding back, as clear as if it had happened yesterday.   
  
He remembers the looks on his siblings' faces. The rage. The anger. The jealousy. He remembers Gabriel declaring that a worthless, weak angel like him could never have been asked to create stars. Never mind that She had assigned him the task. The very act of singing galaxies into existence had drained him, left him more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life. He had simply rolled his eyes and started to walk past the three of them.   
  
It is what comes next that Crowley wishes with every fiber of his blackened soul that he could forget. Michael and Uriel had grabbed him, holding him in their implacable grips. Gabriel smiling that bastard smile of his, telling him that A Decision had been made. And plunging his hand into Crowley's Core that held his Angelic Grace.   
  
Then...Crowley tries to shunt his mind away from the searing, burning pain of being ripped apart from the inside out. He still remembers screaming so loud that the very gates of Heaven shook. He remembers the screaming, not because of the pain, but because it was the last sound he ever made.   
  
Gabriel rips out his hand, and Crowley sees the Magic that is his Angelic Voice hovering above. A triple sound of snapping fingers, and it's gone. Gabriel smiles. "Throw this worthless angel out."   
  
*NO NO PLEASE DON'T DO THIS PLEASE* He digs his heels in as Uriel and Michael drag him towards the Edge, fighting with every ounce of strength he has left. But his siblings were designed for war, and he has been designed to create. He cannot stand against their combined power.

A single, breathless moment passes, a heartbeat that seems to last forever and yet lasts no time.   
  
Then he is Falling, wings burned black and Voice Gone Forever.

HEAVEN: THEN

Aziraphale knows Something is Wrong. There's someone missing. Someone with hair the color of fire, eyes that held galaxies, and a voice that made him happier than he had ever felt in his life. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't remember. He asks Gabriel, and is coldly told that no angel like that has ever existed in Heaven. But that can't be, because Aziraphale...Aziraphale... why can’t he grasp this? He feels as though a piece of him is missing, a very important piece.   
  
"Stars. He sang the stars to life. He sang to me. In between making the stars. We... I...Alpha Centauri. He called one of them Alpha Centauri. Said it was...special. To us."   
  
Gabriel gives him a pitying look. "You are imaging things. Raphael was the one who created the stars. And he does not have red hair." Aziraphale starts to protest, to insist that it was NOT Raphael, and Gabriel places his hands on his temple. "Forget this angel, Aziraphale. He does not exist. He never existed. Do you understand?"   
  
Blue eyes go blank, and Aziraphale nods. Gabriel smiles. “Good. Now, about your assignment on Earth...”

HELL: THEN

"We have to do something." Beezlebub cuts their gaze to the darkened shadows of the room, where a shape with glowing yellow eyes is crouched. "He..." they gulp, trying not to let their emotions(and isn't that funny, a demon having Emotions) show on their face. "He won't survive here. You know he won't."   
Lucifer nods. "I know. Hastur nearly killed him yesterday because he couldn't call for help. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s been attacked by the others. And his mind... that bastard of a brother of mine did more damage to him than I suspect even Gabriel knows. His Voice was.. losing that was worse than losing his Grace." He turns towards the shape in the dark. "Come over here." A piece of the shadows breaks away from the rest, and Lucifer has to keep from biting back a horrible curse at Gabriel and the others at what they have done.   
  
Hair that once rivaled the sun for brightness has gone a dull copper, hanging limply to bowed and stooped shoulders. Eyes that once held the very stuff the stars are made of are glowing with maddened pain and grief. And on his bare arms and legs, more scars from the beatings and taunts he has endured while in Hell. But worst of all are the scars on the throat. There's not one inch of skin that is not marked with horrible, jagged, red scars, the marks a sign of just how cruel Heaven could be.  
  
Beezlebub's non existent heart wrenches in their chest. They look over at their Lord, and Lucifer has the same look of sorrow and anger. "After all you did...they cast you down."   
  
The silent demon stares at him, unblinking. Lucifer is one of the few in Hell that can meet that implacable gaze without looking away. He waits, and the other demon’s gaze drops first.   
  
"You are aware, no doubt, of the Eden project?" A slow nod. "I'm sending you up there. Tempt the humans. How is your choice." An angry gesture at the scarred throat. "Figure that out for yourself. But if you would rather remain in Hell.." A panicked shaking of the head. "You need a name. I’ve noticed you enjoy being a snake. How do you feel about Crawley?"


	2. Meetings of the Fractured Minds

Chapter Two: Meetings of the Fractured Minds

THE GARDEN OF EDEN AZIRAPHALE POV

Aziraphale watches as Adam and Eve become small specks on the horizon. He can see the Sword, a tiny pinprick of light almost swallowed by the harsh brightness of the desert. He hopes he did the right thing. He would hate to get in trouble. ' _But then again'_ , he thinks miserably, _'I'm usually always in trouble_.' He can't afford to muck this Eden bit up. Gabriel has told him...told him...told him what? Aziraphale blinks, trying to remember. He gets like this sometimes, where his mind seems to be full of holes, and the more he tries to remember, the bigger the holes become. He's so lost in his own mind that he doesn't see the snake in his path until he trips over it and falls flat on his face.

He scrambles to a sitting position, blushing hotly in embarrassment. _‘Typical, stupid Aziraphale!’_ he thinks to himself. _‘Always has his head in the clouds, can’t even pay attention to where he’s walking!’_

The snake is staring at him, and Aziraphale gulps. It’s a monster, nearly fifty feet long, and it does not look friendly. The angel gulps. “Umm...I do apologize for tripping over you. I...please don’t eat me.” Not that he’s entirely certain that a snake, even one as humongous as this creature is, could actually eat an angel. But Aziraphale is taking no chances.

The snake tilts its head, and between one blink and the next has transformed into what Aziraphale is certain is a demon. “Oh, bugger.” The demon’s yellow eyes are fixed on his, and Aziraphale feels like his very soul is being bared. He wars between being polite(he did trip over this demon, after all) and following Heaven’s rule about smiting any and all demons on sight. But this demon isn’t doing anything demon-like. It’s just...staring at him. That surely doesn’t warrant a smiting. “Err...hello? My name’s Aziraphale. Do you have a name?”

No response, and Aziraphale begins to feel a bit wrong footed. “Look, are we going to have a staring contest or are you going to at least do the polite thing and tell me your name?” He huffs, and the demon’s gaze sharpens into what Aziraphale is shocked to realize is agony. “I am sorry if I upset you. I just would like you to tell me who you are!”

The demon shakes his head and gestures, and for the first time Aziraphale’s gaze drops to his throat. “Oh.” His voice comes out as a squeak. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. Hell can be so cruel.” He is repulsed and sickened by what the other demons have done. “Well...can you write down your name?”

A nod, and the demon scratches a name into the dirt. C R A W L E Y

Aziraphale beams. “I’m very happy to meet you, Crawley.”

Thunder booms overhead, and Crawley looks up as the rain starts to fall. Aziraphale isn’t entirely sure that this water falling from the sky will harm him, so he scoots closer, raising a wing to shelter the silent demon from the storm. He’s sure to get in trouble for this, but it feels...right.

“So...I take it you were the reason Adam and Eve had to depart the Garden?” He’s almost certain Crawley is rolling his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. Caused a lot of trouble, that. Still, you are a demon. Trouble is what you do.” Aziraphale leans over, eyes wide. “Can I tell you a secret?” Crawley nods. “I gave Adam my Sword. You know, the flaming one.” Crawley turns to him so fast Aziraphale is certain he has whiplash. “Well, it’s not like I need it. There’s dangers out there, and poor Eve is expecting. Now, you have to promise to not tell anyone...oh, dear, I mean...” Crawley smiles and nods. “Good. I know I did the right thing.”

GARDEN OF EDEN CRAWLEY POV

He has done as asked. It hadn’t been easy, tempting Eve without a Voice. If he still had it, he could have sung a song into her ear that would make the apple the most beautiful piece of food she’s ever seen, made her desire it beyond all foods ever created. But instead he is forced to use his eyes and hands. It takes a lot out of him, and he stretches out in his snake form to try and get some sleep. He’s rudely awakened by someone tripping over him, and he rises up to hiss at the intruder. Then he gets a good look at the angel, and his blackened heart wrenches in his chest.

Surely God could not be this cruel to him. He cannot be here, staring into the cerulean eyes of this angel. This angel that was his best friend, his soul mate, his other half.

This angel that...doesn’t recognize him. There’s no spark in those brilliant blue eyes, no indication that Aziraphale(and oh, Crawley had spent hours in Hell playing their last encounter over and over in his head to keep himself sane) knows who he is. Crawley wants to scream his rage and agony to Heaven.

He becomes aware that Aziraphale is saying something, and changes forms.

“Oh, bugger.”

Aziraphale sounds scared, and Crawley has never felt more agony and pain than he does now. He wants nothing more than to reach across the gulf that divides them and take his sweet angel into his arms, to hold him close and sing to him like he used to. He knows if he tried that now, he could expect shock at best and a smiting at worst. And thanks to Gabriel, his Songs are long since vanished.

‘ _Oh, my sweet dove, what have those bastards done to you?!’_

“My name’s Aziraphale.”

‘ _I know, oh my sweet angel, I know. You were the one thing that was good about Heaven. You were built to protect, to love, to guide, and they treated you so cruelly for it.’_

“Do you have a name?”

Crawley swallows a silent sob.

“Are we going to have a staring contest, or will you tell me your name?” Crawley almost smiles at the flare of anger. But then the realization that his angel _**doesn’t remember who he is**_ hits once more, and Crawley’s anguish and rage overwhelms him. He gestures to his throat, and Aziraphale gasps in horror. 

“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. Hell can be so cruel.”

‘ _Hell didn’t do this to me, my dove.’_

“Well...can you write down your name?”

Crawley nods, and scratches his name..his demon name, not his Name, into the dirt. Aziraphale smiles(and Crawley feels, as he always had when Aziraphale smiles, like he is looking into the sun). “I’m very pleased to meet you, Crawley.”

Thunder booms overhead, and Crawley looks up as the first fat drops of the first rain land on his face. Aziraphale scoots closer, wing raised to shelter him, and Crawley’s heart twists. Even without his angel knowing him, he still wants to protect him.

“So...I take it you were the reason Adam and Eve had to depart the Garden?” Crawley rolls his eyes in amused exasperation and fondness. “I’ll take that as a yes. Caused a lot of trouble, that. Still, you are a demon. Trouble is what you do.” Aziraphale leans over, eyes wide. “Can I tell you a secret?” Crawley nods. “I gave Adam my Sword. You know, the flaming one.” Crawley turns to him so fast he gets whiplash. “Well, it’s not like I need it. There’s dangers out there, and poor Eve is expecting. Now, you have to promise to not tell anyone...oh, dear, I mean...” Crawley smiles and nods. “Good. I know I did the right thing.”

‘ _You always do, my angel.’_


	3. Moments in Time

Chapter 3: Moments in Time

Aziraphale glances up at the sky. “It looks like the rain’s finally stopped.” He stands and shakes out his wings, feathers fluffing up, and Crawley smirks at him. “Oh, don’t look so smug.” He extends a hand, and the demon stares at it, flinching. “Honestly. I just sheltered you with my wings! You can trust me.”

Crawley’s throat bobs, and he places his scarred hand in Aziraphale’s soft, plump one. The angel gently pulls him up, and they stare at each other for an eternity of a heartbeat. It is Aziraphale who breaks the silence. “Well. Umm...I should probably be getting along. No more humans in the Garden, so nothing left to guard. I take it you’ll be heading back as well?” He’s not expecting what happens next.

The demon’s eyes go wide in what Aziraphale is shocked to realize is horror. He shakes his head frantically, breath coming out in harsh, panicked gasps as his entire body trembles. Crawley clasps his hands together, eyes pleading, and Aziraphale feels a surge of Protection.

There is no way in Heaven or Hell that he is going to let this poor broken creature out of his sight. Okay, so said poor creature happens to be a demon, but something deep inside Aziraphale tells him that what he’s doing is the Right Thing. He’s more sure of this than he was the Flaming Sword.

“I won’t leave you alone, Crawley. I promise. Now, we just need to figure out how to get out of here.” He grins. “I wonder if the hole I helped Adam sneak out of is still there.”

Luckily, it is, and Aziraphale clambers through the opening before helping Crawley. He’s fitting the stone into place when a bright Light falls on him. Crawley bares his teeth in terror and crouches behind the angel as Her Voice comes from above.

AZIRAPHALE, ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE. WHERE IS THE SWORD I GAVE YOU?

“Sword? Oh, yes. Big, sharp cutty thing. Umm...I just had it. Must have put it down somewhere, lose my own head next.” Aziraphale makes a show of looking around. She’s not fooled, though, and he knows it.

AND THE DEMON CROUCHING BEHIND YOU?

Aziraphale straightens, staring up at the Light, defiance in his pose and voice. “I’m not leaving him, Lord. I was made by You to Protect, and this demon needs my Protection. Fall me if You must, but I will not let him go back to Hell.” He winces, waiting for Her to answer. When She does, She seems almost...amused.

THEN SO MAY IT BE. SILENCE AND STRENGTH, TOGETHER FOR ETERNITY.

The Light vanishes, and Aziraphale expels a breath he doesn’t even realize he was holding. Crawley comes from his hiding spot, and they gape at each other. “Well,” says Aziraphale, “that went much better than I expected.” Crawley nods, and together they set off across the desert.

They can’t be together all the time, of course. Aziraphale, for all that he was made to Protect, is also still Bound by the Rules of Heaven, and if he is Called, he must answer. But he tries to make the trips as short as he possibly can. It goes better for him when it’s Raphael he has to report to. The Archangel of Healing is polite, if a bit up his own arse. But he treats Aziraphale fairly, and doesn’t waste time asking for petty details. He reads the reports, signs them, and sends the Principality on his way.

Gabriel, on the other wing. Aziraphale dreads it when he has to report to him. Gabriel is a cruel, cold, capricious being. He sneers at Aziraphale, treats him like he’s something the Archangel has scraped off the bottom of his shoes. Aziraphale feels himself shaking every time, a feeling that is not helped by the other three angels that always accompany him. Michael was always intimidating, even before the War, but now she’s downright horrifying. Uriel is cold and calculating, and Sandalphon is, well, to be honest, Aziraphale’s still not entirely certain why Sandalphon didn’t Fall. He’s certainly got the capacity for Evil.

“..And things are going very well on Earth, The humans have prospered, despite the efforts of the Opposition, and they’re starting to worship God, and...”

“There’s too many of them.” Gabriel interrupts, and Aziraphale blinks in confusion. “They’re also not worshiping the way they should. Too many turning away from Her. She’s not happy.”

“N...not happy?” Aziraphale frantically wracks his brain, trying to think past the haze that always seems to fill it when he’s in Gabriel’s presence. “Well, look, maybe some of them don’t worship Her specifically, but in the end, it all leads back to Her. Right?”

“Wrong.” Gabriel’s smile is cold. “They’re heathens, and they need to be taught a lesson. So we’re going to flood the Earth. Wash it clean, start over.”

Aziraphale’s heart shrivels in terror. “All of it?!”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Not quite all. There’s this fella, Noah. Good man. Worships the way he’s supposed to. He’ll be spared, along with his family, but he has to build an Ark. God’s gonna tell him about it pretty soon. He’s also gotta bring two of every animal. Bit stinky, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale isn’t listening. The Earth. The Earth is going to be drowned. The Earth that, in the short time he’s been on it, he has come to love, along with the humans that make up a vast part of it. The Earth that has become more of a home than Heaven ever was.

_**The Earth that Crawley is a part of.** _

He has to get out of here now. He has to warn Crawley. He has to Protect him. “Well...it sounds...very final. I um...best be getting along. Things to do before the umm...Big Rain. Cheerio!”

He turns, half expecting to be Called back, but nothing happens. He keeps a leisurely pace right until he reaches the stairway, and then he’s running, stumbling over the steps. His wings flare out, and he flies faster than he ever has in his existence.

He spots Crawley sitting beneath a tree, watching a group of young humans run about. The demon seems almost relaxed, and he barely flinches when Aziraphale lands next to him. ‘Hello.’ They’ve been working on means of communication. Right now, it’s crude hand signals and words and pictures scratched into dirt. Crawley looks sideways at the angel. ‘You upset. Trouble?’

Aziraphale sighs, speaking as he signs back. “You could say yes. Flood.”

‘Flood? What flood? No rain.’ Crawley points towards the sky, which is an unblemished blue.

“From Heaven. They’re...drowning them. Not worshiping right.”

‘ALL? EVEN...’ Crawley points towards the children, and Aziraphale nods miserably. ‘NO. INNOCENT. WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG’ Aziraphale’s hands close over his, stopping his rant.

“Believe me, I feel the same. But there is nothing we can do about it. And not...all. There’s Noah. He’ll be spared.”

Crawley snarls at him in his silent way and stands up, stalking off, his body rigid with fury. Aziraphale sighs and walks after him, mind churning.

Sumer, 3000 BCE, (approx the time historians believe writing was invented)   
  
"I have something for you." Aziraphale says to Crawley, hands hidden behind his back. "I know we've both made great strides in...well, communicating with each other, but now that the humans have writing by making pictures on clay tablets and calling it cuneiform, I thought, well, it would be wonderful if we could communicate that way as well, but clay is so **awfully** inconvenient to carry around, definitely need to come up with something more portable, and..."  
  
Crawley places his hand over the angel's mouth, eyes dancing with mirth. Aziraphale gets like this, and if not checked will ramble for hours. Crawley loves him for it. "Yes. Sorry." He brings his hands to the front, and presses something into Crawley's hand. The demon looks down. It's a rolled up piece of parchment, and... Crawley's eyes fill with tears. 'Angel', he signs, hands shaking with effort, 'Is that..?'   
  
"One of my feathers, yes. I made sure it was safe for you. It won’t burn, and I thought maybe...the parchment's miracled to stay intact no matter what and.."   
  
He's cut off by the impact of a silently sobbing demon slamming into him. Aziraphale carefully brings his arms around, holding Crawley as carefully as he can. One thing he’s learned over the millenia is that the demon does not show affection lightly, and he hates being touched without permission. Aziraphale is pretty certain this has something to do with whatever traumas he had endured while in Hell. “You are most welcome, my dear.”

‘Thank you.’ Crawley unrolls the parchment, licks the tip of Aziraphale’s feather, and writes. ‘HELLO AZIRAPHALE.’

Aziraphale’s smile makes the sun look dim. “Hello, Crawley.”

Golgotha: 33 AD

Crowley watches as the humans nail Joshua to the cross. She wishes with all her black heart that she could stop them, but she has no power to do that. Not anymore. Not with her Songs gone. So she does the only thing she can do. She watches, and she remembers. There’s a rustle of wings, and Aziraphale lands next to her. “I comforted Miriam as best as I could. Craw..I mean Crowley, you know you don’t have to watch this.” Crowley shakes her head in denial. “My dear boy..I mean, dear girl..” It’s been nearly a decade now since she’s changed names and genders, and Aziraphale still stumbles over the correct words. But male, female, both, or neither, Crowley is still Crowley.

‘I met him in the desert. He treated me like you do. Like I mattered. Learned Sign very fast.’

“Well, he is Her Son.”

Crowley nods, silent tears pouring down her face, and Aziraphale carefully takes her hand. “Well, if you must bear witness, than I will do so as well. I swore on Eden’s Wall that I would never leave you.”

ROME: EIGHT YEARS LATER

They stumble out of the restaurant, arms around each other in an effort to keep from falling over. “Wunnerful things, oysters!” Aziraphale says. “Scru..HIC...’scuse me. Absolutely scrummy! And wine! What a...brill...brill...what a nice thing! Wine.” He glances over at his friend. “Tol’ ya I liked you wiv short hair, right? Long too. Like your hair. Is pretty. Red.” He gestures expansively. “Was a good thing..us both gettin’...assing..assigm...gettin’ jobs here. Feel sorry for you though. Cal...right bastard, that Emperor.”

Crowley is too drunk to Sign, so he just nods, grinning as he makes a drinking gesture, pointing at Aziraphale. He had run from Caligula’s palace as quickly as he could, sickened by what went on there, and even now the dull haze of drunkeness doesn’t keep the memories entirely at bay. Thank Someone for Aziraphale.

“I din’t haff too..much. You...dramk a bunch.” He blinks. “Din’t even try an oyster.” The face Crowley makes is priceless, and Aziraphale cackles. The demon shudders, tongue sticking out in a ‘Ech’ gesture.

“You could have at least tried one. Been polite. After all, I bought wine.”

Crowley shakes his head, grimacing. Slimy, nasty things, oysters.

“We shoul...umm...get not drunk. Whossat called?” His face scrunches up, and Crowley smiles. “Sober! Is called sober!” They wince as the alcohol leaves their systems. “Well, that’s much better. Shall we see if we can acquire a room in a less...shady part of town?”

‘Sure, Angel.’

WESSEX, 537

‘It makes sense, Angel!’

“Crowley. We are together ALL. THE. TIME. Why would we need this...Arrangement?”

Crowley paces in his tent as Aziraphale watches. He makes faces, wringing his hands, then turns towards the angel. ‘It’s a fail safe. We both still have to do our jobs, right? You Bless, I Tempt. I just don’t have to answer to Hell. So long as I Tempt, they’re happy. But you still have to Answer to Heaven, right?’ Aziraphale nods. ‘And since we’re...together, we’re always in the same place. Right?’

“I...yes.” Aziraphale ponders this. “What you’re saying, is that in effect we’re canceling each other out.” Crowley nods. “But I still don’t understand...”

‘Simple. We swap, once in a while. I do Blessings, you do Temptings. We write up the reports, sign them, and our Bosses will never be the wiser. You could even make it seem like you’re following me around to stop my Evil Wiles.’

“Crowley, you wiley, evil, horrible serpent. That is the most brilliant idea I have ever heard.” Aziraphale smiles like a shark, and Crowley’s heart skips a beat.

GLOBE THEATER, 1601

Aziraphale climbs to his feet, clapping as loudly as he can, echoing the sound made by the humans that fill the packed theater. Crowley has more than kept his promise, and Hamlet is a rousing success beyond even the dreams of Will. Richard bows, eyes bright with happiness as he looks over the crowd. Will, who is standing in the wings and still not quite able to believe how quickly his luck has changed, catches Aziraphale’s gaze and mouths ‘Thank you.’ Aziraphale beams and gives him a thumbs up.

SWITZERLAND, 1770

“I have a present for you.” Aziraphale grins at his demon(and when exactly Crowley became his, he can’t really say). “I think you’ll really like it.”

Crowley eagerly holds out his hand, and Aziraphale places a small object into it. It’s shaped like a box, but it’s small enough to fit in his hand. ‘What is it?’

“It’s called a music box. I’ve noticed you have an...affinity for music.”

‘I...yes, you could say that.’ Crowley’s eyes are damp. ‘I was...’ he drops his hands, shaking his head in a NO. ‘Sorry. Bad memories.’

The angel’s face crumples. “Oh, I messed up, didn’t I! I didn’t even stop to think how it might make you feel, I just saw it and thought you might like it, I’m such a stupid, thoughtless, foolish angel, I’m worthless, I’m...” Crowley slams his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

‘It’s beautiful, Aziraphale. Thank you.’

PARIS 1793

‘These crepes better be worth it, Angel. You nearly got yourself discorporated over them. I swear, I leave you alone for five minutes and you wind up locked in the Bastille. And here I thought you were the Protector.’ Crowley finishes writing and passes the Parchment over. Aziraphale looks contrite.

“In my defense, I do rather love crepes. Though I wish I could have kept that lovely outfit.”

‘The one that nearly got you beheaded? The one that was the reason I was forced to come and save you? The one that made it so I had to stop time and get us both out of that smelly dungeon?’

“You’ve made your point, thank you.”

Crowley smirks.

LONDON 1862

**Fraternizing.** Crowley can't remember how he got back to his flat. He doesn't remember opening the door or sinking to the floor, tears pouring from his eyes and clawed fingers gouging holes into his flesh. He can't focus on anything but that one word. He can't focus on anything... he can't focus..he should play his music boxes, that will make him feel better, make him feel…

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel better. He doesn’t want to Feel at all.   
  
Yellow eyes go dark, and Crowley shuts down.

Aziraphale can’t remember how he got back to his shop. He can’t believe Crowley would throw away their friendship in such a callous manner by asking for HOLY WATER. He sinks to the floor, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. He gulps, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. He had such a grand idea this morning. Meet Crowley at St. James, feed the birds,(they maintained separate residences to keep up the illusion of being Enemies), then back to the Shop for some drinking, then Aziraphale would give him the present he has had specially made. He looks over at the object sitting on the table, and can no longer hold back his tears.

LONDON 1941, AZ FELL AND CO.

“What on EARTH were you thinking, Crowley? You drop out of my life for DECADES. Decades in which I’m not sure if you’re dead, alive, or whatever, and then you just...SHOW UP IN A CHURCH, NEARLY GETTING US BOTH KILLED. I AM YOUR PROTECTOR, NOT THE OTHER BLOODY WAY AROUND!”

‘Because you were doing SUCH a wonderful job of handling it yourself! If I hadn’t shown up when I did, YOU WOULD BE DISCORPORATED. You trusted FUCKING NAZIS, ANGEL.’

“Which reminds me, how the HELL did they know you?! And why Anthony?”

‘I have a reputation, let’s just leave it at that. And Anthony...I just like the name.’

Aziraphale sighs. He can’t stay mad at this demon. “And the J?”

‘It’s just a J, really.’

“You wily Serpent.” Aziraphale’s gaze is fond, and Crowley beams. “I should probably give you this. Been holding onto it since 1862.” He snaps his fingers, and a music box appears in Crowley’s lap. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, a rich, dark red color with serpents and musical notes engraved all over. “Had it custom made. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but there’s this...song, or piece of music, that’s always been running through my head. About five hundred years ago I started writing it down as best as I could. Took me ages, especially since I had to learn notes and things like that. But once I got it down, I went to a specialist that makes boxes custom made and had him make that. It..the song makes me think of you.”

Crowley opens the box, and the Song...their Song, the Song he sang to Aziraphale in Heaven, comes pouring out. The demon blinks, eyes blurring with tears as he hugs his angel as tightly as he can.

1967

‘What in the Heaven do you mean, I go too fast for you?’

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “I mean that you are a Speed Demon, and I am not going anywhere with you in this contraption unless you promise you will not get us killed!”

Crowley grins and places his hand over his heart. ‘Promise, Angel.’

“Good. In that case, I have a case of Scotch at the Shop. Care to join me in a drink?”

‘Always.’


	4. Countdown to Crisis

Chapter Four Countdown to Crisis

Crowley hates having to go to Hell. He avoids it whenever possible, much preferring to simply deliver his reports through the Infernal Mail service. But every once in a while he is forced to make the trip Downstairs in person...er, well, in demon. This is one of those times. He has received a Summons from Prince Beezlebub and they much prefer face to face communication. So Crowley psyches himself up, takes a few deep breaths, and descends through the floor.

The claustrophobia hits him as soon as he steps off the lift. Hell is crowded, dirty, loud and cold. It is everything he hates, everything that reminds him of what a broken, wretched thing he has become. Crowley clenches his fists until they’re bloody, breath coming in harsh gasps as he does his best to stave off a panic attack. He’s on the verge of calming down when he hears a voice behind him that makes his blood freeze in his veins.

“Well, if it isn’t the snake himself.” Hastur oozes out of the darkness, Ligur behind him like a malignant shadow. They stalk towards Crowley, who whimpers and presses himself against the wall, teeth bared. “Little snake thinks he’s going to bite us, mate.” Hastur grabs Crowley by the collar and yanks him forward, claws digging into flesh, and Crowley’s mouth opens in a silent scream. “Wot have Ligur and I tole you about trying to bite us, little snake? You need to be taught again, I see.”

Crowley shakes his head frantically, eyes wide with horror. The last time Hastur and Ligur taught him a ‘lesson’, he had been so broken that he couldn’t move for a week. He had only made it back to his flat through sheer stubborn will. Hastur grins at him then punches him hard in the stomach. He crumples, and before he can draw breath Ligur has kicked him in the solar plexus. Crowley curls in on himself, trying to protect as much of his body as he can. The kicks continue, and Crowley’s ears ring as someone-either Hastur or Ligur-kicks him hard in the head. _‘This is it’_ , he thinks, _‘this time they’re really going to kill me and I’ll never see my angel again...’_

“Enough.” The voice behind that single word is quiet, but Hastur and Ligur immediately stop. Crowley crawls, much like the snake he is, over to the wall. Hastur is grinning sickly at Beezlebub. “You have been told before, Duke Hastur. You do not bother Crowley.” Their placid gaze falls on Ligur. “You as well. Now, get out of here before I inform Asmodeus of what you are doing.”

“But, Prince Beezle..” Hastur begins, and the Prince glares at him with such fury that he shrinks back, silent.

“Are you questioning my authority, Duke Hastur?”

“N..no, my Prince.”

“Good. Now. Get. Out. Of. Here.” They watch as the two demons scurry off before walking over to Crowley and carefully helping him stand. “Are you okay?” They Sign as they talk(not as elegantly as Aziraphale, Crowley notes, but at least they’re trying). Crowley starts to nod, then winces and shakes his head. “I should have met you here. Sorry.”

‘Not your fault, Prince. Why the Summons?’

“Things are starting. Well, ending, to be more precise.”

Crowley blinks, confused. ‘Ending? What..’ his eyes go wide. ‘Not...’

Beezlebub nods. “The Antichrist was delivered this morning by Belial. He says things went off without a hitch. Switched him with the baby of the American ambassador.”

‘Why are you telling me this?! What do you expect me to do?!’

Beezlebub sighs. “Something you’ll most likely hate, but perversely, are the best demon for. We want you to be our...liaison, spy, whatever you might call it, in the American ambassador’s house. Make sure the child grows up the right, or rather, the wrong way.”

‘You want me to help end the world?!’

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley. None of us, not even Lucifer, can go against that. It’s Ineffable.”

‘What about...’ Crowley stops, dropping his hands to his sides in a clear ‘I can’t say anymore’ gesture. Beezlebub smiles grimly.

“The angel that’s also on earth? Do your best to make sure he doesn’t find out.” They sigh. “Look, either you take this assignment or I’ll be forced to send up someone else. You’ve been on Earth the longest, you can blend in better, even with your scars.” They grin evilly. “Consider this your reward for what you did to the M 25.”

Crowley sighs in resignation and nods. Now he just has to figure out what to tell Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, in the meantime, is having a spectacularly awful day. And the night before started out so well, too. He and Crowley had gone to dinner, then back to the shop for a nice drinking session, and Crowley had fallen asleep on the couch. Then the next morning, Crowley had been Summoned to Hell, and had had a panic attack that took him nearly an hour to recover from. Aziraphale had been frantic once he left, mind creating all sorts of horrible scenarios. In an effort to ease the churning in his brain, he had gone out, hoping that his normal routine would calm him down. And at first, it had. Now he’s sitting in his favorite sushi restaurant, the dish in front of him untouched, Gabriel sneering down at it like it was the most horrible thing he’d ever seen.

“Why do you...consume that? You’re an angel.” Gabriel says the word ‘angel’ with scorn, and Aziraphale wilts.

“..It’s sushi. It’s..I like the taste.”

Gabriel frowns. “You...like the taste. God, no wonder you’ve got such a gut. All the gross matter that you consume. I, on the other hand, do not sully the temple of my body.”

Aziraphale looks down at the table, resolutely telling himself not to cry. He grips the cloth, humming, and suddenly his arms are grabbed and Gabriel’s gaze is burning. “WHAT IS THAT?!”

“Whuh...whuh..?”

He’s never seen his boss so enraged. “That tune you’re humming, Aziraphale! WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”

Aziraphale is many things right now, terrified being paramount. But what he is not and never has been is an idiot. “I...a customer in my shop was singing one of those silly songs that are so popular with the humans. I guess the tune got stuck in my head, as the Earth saying goes.” He smiles sickly, hoping Gabriel will buy it.

Gabriel releases him, and Aziraphale falls back against the table. “Fine. Just so long as it wasn’t...” Gabriel stops, smiling that smile that always makes Aziraphale shiver. “Not that it matters, anyway. Things are happening. Big things. You are aware of your opposite on earth, the demon Crowley?”

“...Yes?”

“He’s involved in some way. Keep an eye on him, make sure things go Our way and not his. Clear?”

It’s not, but Aziraphale nods, hoping that Gabriel will leave him in peace. “Excellent.” Gabriel vanishes, and Aziraphale lets out a loud gasp of relief. Things? What things? What could be so important that…

“Oh. Oh no.” He does the math in his head, and the timeline adds up. “Well...fuck.”

‘ _Welcome to the End Times,’_ he thinks bitterly.

MEANWHILE, BACK IN HEAVEN

The Archangel Gabriel is furious. More than that, he is worried. Aziraphale isn’t supposed to remember anything about...no, Gabriel won’t say that worthless angel’s name. Even now, millenia later, the very thought of that worthless sibling makes his blood boil. It hadn’t been fair, Mother giving such an important task to that weakling! Gabriel should have been the Starmaker! He would have done so much better, created precision and order where The Weakling had created chaos. And giving the Worthless One that Voice, the Voice that could Create, Compel, Comfort, and Destroy! What does he use it for? For singing love songs to another angel that was even more worthless and weak! An angel built to Protect that had refused to fight in the War! Gabriel had been sure Aziraphale would Fall for that, but instead Mother had assigned him to guard Eden’s gate, then to Earth permanently.

Gabriel punches the wall in his office, snarling in fury. Aziraphale would be back in Heaven permanently in eleven years, and then Gabriel will finally get satisfaction.

BACK ON EARTH, IN THE BACK ROOM OF AZ FELL

Crowley stares moodily into his glass. End Times. Armageddon. The Big One. Ragnarok. He fumbles for his Parchment, scribbling, then passes it over to Aziraphale. ‘Dolphins is my point.’ His writing, normally a beautiful cursive, is rough and jagged, an indicator of the fact that both he and the angel are gloriously smashed. Aziraphale squints at the writing.

“Whuh ‘bout them?”

Crowley taps his head, then holds his hands apart. Aziraphale blinks.

“Dunno what you’re sayin...Signing...” He hands the Parchment back.

‘Big brains. Real...big. Whales too.’

“Kraken!” Aziraphale shouts, and Crowley jumps. “Sorry. S’posed to...rise up. Seas boilin, and all that. He that Sleepeth beneath the...deep.”

‘Fish stew.’

Aziraphale smiles drunkenly. “Oooh, I love fish stew.” Crowley snaps his fingers in a ‘Focus, Angel’ gesture. “Right, yes. Whuh were we talking about?”

‘Stopping it. I don’t want End, do you?’

“No, of course I don’t. You know what I have to look forward to in Heaven? The Bloody Sound of Bloody Music for all bloody Eternity. If I have to hear Climb Every Bloody Mountain one more time, I’m going to take a flaming hot poker and ram it up Gabriel’s arse.”

Crowley laughs so hard he falls off the couch. Aziraphale waits in drunken patience as he pulls himself up, wincing as the alcohol leaves him. ‘So what we need to do is what we’ve always done. Create a Zero Sum game. Make it so the Antichrist doesn’t grow up to end everything, while telling our Head Offices that we’re both trying to influence him to Our Side.’

Aziraphale sobers up. “Well, you told me that Hell already wants you there, so it should be fairly easy for both of us. But how do we gain access to the Ambassador’s home?”

Crowley grins and hands Aziraphale a crumpled piece of paper. NANNY AND GARDENER WANTED FOR LARGE ESTATE. INQUIRE IN PERSON AT.. “Is that their home?” Crowley nods. “Brilliant.”

THE DOWLING ESTATE, ELEVEN YEARS BEFORE IT ALL GOES TO POT

It takes Aziraphale a grand total of half a parsec to determine that Thaddeus “Call me Thad, everyone does” Dowling is the single most repulsive human he has ever had the displeasure of meeting. The man has been staring in unveiled disgust at Crowley ever since they sat down for their interviews. Crowley’s gloved hands are shaking so hard that she’s having trouble Signing. Harriet Dowling, on the other hand, has been nothing but polite. “Thank you both so much for coming in. Mr. Fell, I understand you applied for the position of gardener?”

Aziraphale nods. “Yes. I’m much better with plants than children.” He chooses not to mention that he’s not that spectacular with plants, either, but at least if you kill a plant there’s no consequences. And children are very sticky.

“Now, Miss.. Crowley? Am I saying that right?” She pronounces it ‘Craw-lee’, and Crowley shakes her head.

“It’s Crow-lee. Like the bird,” supplies Aziraphale, and Mrs. Dowling nods.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I looked over your resume, and I must say, I was quite impressed. Your...disability...it doesn’t seem to have affected your ability to take care of a child.”

Crowley’s fingers fly, and Aziraphale translates. “Why on Earth should it? I don’t need to be able to speak to make them listen. But if you’re going to dismiss me simply because I can’t speak...”

“No, no that was not my intention at all.” Harriet’s voice is calm. “I merely meant that I liked what I saw. If you can get Warlock to behave, I frankly wouldn’t care if you were deaf and blind as well.”

“So does that mean we’re hired?”

Harriet starts to answer in the affirmative when Thad grabs her arm. “Honey, can we talk in private?” He leads her to a far corner of the room. Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other in silent agreement and enhance their hearing so every word is audible.

“What are you doing?”

“Hiring a nanny for our son and someone to take care of the garden, Thad.”

“Look, the gardener is bad enough. I mean, the man is clearly a homo! What will people think?! But that other one...how do you know she’s not mentally disabled as well as physically?”

“Thaddeus. I have spent the last SEVEN weeks trying to find a nanny for Warlock. The last one lasted two days before she quit. At this point, I would hire Lizzy Fucking Borden if I thought she could do the job. I am tired. I am worn out. And so help me God, if you do not BACK THE FUCK OFF AND LET ME HIRE THESE TWO, I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL.”

And so it was that Brother Francis Fell, aka Aziraphale, and his cousin, Miss Ashtoreth Janice Crowley, were hired as the Gardener and Nanny to whom they believed to be the Antichrist, one Warlock Dowling.

“Bruvver Francis, why can’t Nanny talk?” Four year old Warlock was digging in the dirt for worms to put in the cook’s spaghetti(Nanny had ‘told’ him that it would be a Bad thing, which to Nanny meant Good).

“I don’t know. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her.”

“Did she get bit by a dog like the guy in the dalmatian movie?”

Aziraphale frowns. Those scars do look like something a Hell Hound could make. “...Maybe. I’ve never felt right asking her.” Well, that isn’t entirely true. He has started to ask her many times over the centuries, but she’s always changed the subject. “How’s your Signing coming along, Master Warlock?”

Warlock grins. He loves learning Sign from Nanny, especially since it means that now he can talk to her without his dad knowing what they’re saying. He carefully Signs as he talks to Aziraphale. “It’s. Going. Good. Nanny’s proud.”

“I just bet she is.”

‘Bedtime, Hellspawn.’

“Aww, Nanny, do I have to? This movie’s only got five more minutes left!”

Crowley simply raises an eyebrow, and Warlock switches off the TV. Nanny can convey an entire encyclopedia of words with one raised brow. He performs his nightly routine, then snuggles under the covers. “Play me the music box, please Nanny?”

Crowley nods and pulls one of her music boxes from under the bed, cranking it up. It’s one that she’s had specially made just for this. She places it on the table, fingers moving as she conducts to the song about how Warlock will Rule Over All someday. Warlock smiles and drifts off, a smile on his face. Crowley bends over and kisses his forehead. Satan help her, but she loves this little Hellspawn.

The years pass quicker than either of them could imagine, and soon it is Warlock’s eleventh birthday. Crowley and Aziraphale have left, hoping against hope that their gamble pays off. Then comes the news that Hell is sending a Hound. ‘We have to stop it!’ Crowley is frantic. ‘If he sees it, names it, it’s over!’

“I agree, but how do we get into the party? We quit, remember?”

‘Sneak in.’

“My dear...” Aziraphale doesn’t say ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ since Crowley had woken up that morning and decided they wanted to be both. “We simply cannot just ‘sneak’ into that party. It will be crawling with Secret Service.”

Crowley rolls their eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter. We need to stop the Hound!’

“Yes. I am aware of that. Now, let me think.” Aziraphale paces, then brightens. “This party, it will no doubt have entertainment, right?”

Crowley’s eyes go wide and they shake their head. ‘No. Angel, please tell me you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.’

Aziraphale gives what Crowley has not so secretly come to call his Bastard Grin. “What do you think I’m thinking?”

‘You SUCK at human magic, Angel! It’s fucking embarrassing!’

“Oh, I’ve gotten much better over the years. And it will get us in.” The Bastard Grin widens. “Besides, it’s fun.”

Crowley buries their face in their hands in despair.

Aziraphale has not gotten better. If anything, thinks Crowley as they watch him fail in grandiose fashion, he’s gotten worse. The other children are ready to tear him to pieces, and even Warlock looks bored out of his skull. “You’re rubbish!” a girl shouts, and Aziraphale drops the handkerchief. Crowley glances at their watch. 2 50. Ten more minutes until the Hound arrives, and they’re not certain if Aziraphale can last that long. He’s dying up there.

There’s a commotion ,and one of the Secret Service men’s guns goes flying to land in the punch. Warlock grabs it, pointing it at him. Aziraphale snaps his fingers and the gun becomes a water pistol. For some reason, this triggers a massive food fight. Crowley and Aziraphale sneak away amongst the chaos.

Crowley looks at their watch again and is shocked to realize it’s ten after 3. The Hound is late. Why is the Hound late?

Aziraphale wipes cake off his face and they clamber into the Bentley. “Dog’s late.” Crowley nods. “It’s not supposed to be late.” A shake of the head.

The radio suddenly blares to life. “CROWLEY, HAS THE HOUND SHOWN UP?” It’s Dagon.

Crowley gulps, then taps once on the dashboard. ‘YES.’

GOOD. YOU HAVE DONE WELL. EVERYTHING IS IN MOTION. HAIL SATAN.

The radio switches off, and Aziraphale and Crowley come to the same realization.

“Wrong boy.”

‘Wrong boy.’

Meanwhile, in the village of Tadfield, the right boy, known as Adam to his friends and family, happily pets his new friend, a small black and white mutt that he has named Dog.

And the world moves one step closer to Death.


	5. Restarts and Remembrances

Chapter 5: Restarts and Remembrances

“Okay, so we need to think. Warlock wasn’t the right boy. But we know the right boy must have been born in the same hospital for the switch to have taken place.” Aziraphale wrings his hands. “Only trouble is, I have no Earthly clue where that might be.”

‘Tadfield, Oxford. I sneaked a look at his birth certificate once.’ Crowley passes the Parchment over, and Aziraphale looks relieved. ‘Looked like it was run by Satanic nuns.’

“Wonderful,” says Aziraphale drily. “No wonder your people picked that spot. Tadfield. Why does that name seem familiar? Isn’t there an airbase there?”

Crowley shrugs expansively. ‘No idea, but we’d best get going if we want to find out what happened. It’s about a two hour drive.’

Ninety minutes later, a very flustered Aziraphale stumbles out of the passenger side of Crowley’s death machine, legs trembling. “Unholy Hell, Crowley, you could have gotten us killed!” Crowley smirks at him. Aziraphale is hit by the rather childish urge to stick out his tongue, but before he can he is bowled over by the waves of love radiating from the nearby village. “Oh. Well...that’s...intense.” Crowley blinks at him, head tilted. “Oh. Right. You can’t feel that, can you? Someone really loves this place.”

Crowley looks skeptical. ‘Really? What’s it feel like?’

“The opposite of when something feels spooky.”

‘I love spooky. Big spooky fan.’

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Look, let’s just get this over with.”

To say their mission does not go well would be selling it short. First there’s the fact that the hospital is now a place for corporate retreats, with a group of office drones having a paintball battle(and Aziraphale is torn between being quite peeved that Crowley turned the fake guns into real ones and quite fluttery over being pinned against the wall), then the ex nun that worked there switched the wrong baby. Aziraphale politely gives her a happy dream, and the angel and demon leave the hospital cum retreat.

They’re both so occupied with their own thoughts that they don’t notice the young lady on the bicycle until she’s flying over the hood. Crowley slams on the brakes, and Aziraphale knocks his head on the dashboard. “Ow. Crowley, you hit someone!”

He shakes his head. ‘Someone hit me.’

“Oh, don’t argue semantics! They could be hurt!”

The young lady turns out to only have a broken wrist and some bruised ribs, which are easy enough to heal. Aziraphale puts her newly repaired bike on the newly created rack, pointedly ignoring the glare Crowley gives him. “Where can we drop you, my dear?”

“My cottage. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

After a brief ride, they drop her off and head back to Soho. They sit in an old diner, Crowley watching as Aziraphale devours a piece of cake. “Scrumptious. So. The Antichrist. We can’t find him because he’s hidden from us. Right?”

Crowley nods. ‘Automatic defense thingy.’

“What about hiring a human?”

Crowley tilts his head, confused. ‘What human could...oh, no.’ Crowley buries his face in his hands, shaking his head.

Aziraphale sighs. “I don’t like him any more than you do, my dear. But Shadwell is our only source.”

‘But the man’s madder than a bloody March Hare! Why you decided that we should hire him in the first place is beyond me.’

“If I recall, you did the hiring when you added him to the team for that silly heist of yours in 1967. I merely...subsidized him. Besides, it’s not as if he takes a great deal from us, and we’re not exactly poor. It’s hardly his fault that he thinks he’s fleecing both of us.”

‘God-Blessed Witchfinder Army and their God-Blessed Sergeants. Though at least he’s no Matthew Hopkins.’

“Yes, thank Heaven for that. Whatever happened to him, by the way?”

‘Hopkins?’ Aziraphale nods. ‘Last I heard, he’s become Belial’s favorite little toy.’

“I take it that’s not a good thing?”

Crowley grimaces. ‘Belial isn’t exactly the most...refined demon when it comes to certain...tastes.’

“I have the feeling you are not referring to taste in food.” Aziraphale makes a face.

‘Got it in one, Angel. Shall I tell you details?’

“Please don’t.’

LATER THAT NIGHT, INSIDE AZ FELL’S

Aziraphale takes a deep, steadying breath before pulling on a pair of gloves and running his hands reverently over the front of the book. The book that, by all accounts, doesn’t exist. _The Nice And Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_. The only book of true prophecy to ever be written. He very, very carefully opens it up and begins to read, scanning and writing down the bits that are relevant to the upcoming Armageddon. He stops at a prophecy.

1245 WHEN THE FLY SPEAKETH SILENCE’S NAME

IN THE DEPTHS OF THE PIT,

THAN SHALT STRENGTH REMEMBER ALL.

“What fly? Flies can’t speak.” Nonetheless, something tells him this prophecy is important, so he files it away in his memory. “Now, where was I...”

In what Aziraphale feels is a rather anticlimactic moment, the Antichrist is discovered simply by dialing his home number. His father answers. “Tadfield 6 double 6, Arthur Young speaking.” In the background, Adam shouts that he’s taught Dog to walk on his hind legs.

“Sorry, right number!” Aziraphale slams the phone down, heart pounding, then jumps when it rings again. And again. Short rings, followed by longer ones. “What in the..” Aziraphale smiles. Crowley, of course. He had been so thrilled when Morse Code was invented, ranting happily that now they would have a means of talking even if they weren’t face to face. Aziraphale is a bit rusty, but he can still make out the gist of Crowley’s message. MEET ME AT BANDSTAND. And now that he knows where the Antichrist is, maybe they can appeal to Heaven and this whole idiotic war doesn’t have to happen at all!

But then realization hits him like a blast of cold water. Heaven will never take Crowley back. He is one of the Fallen, a demon. At best they will send him back to Hell, and at worst they will kill him. The only way to keep him safe is to make him believe that Aziraphale knows nothing. The angel’s heart wrenches. In order to Protect, he is going to have to break his demon’s heart.

Crowley is waiting for him, and Aziraphale fights back tears. This is going to be the hardest thing he has ever done in six thousand years. But it’s necessary if he wants to keep his best friend safe.

‘Find anything? Name, location, shoe size?’

Aziraphale tries to smile. Trust this demon to make jokes when the world..when Aziraphale’s world...is about to come crashing down. “Why would I know his shoe size?” Crowley rolls his eyes. Now comes the hardest thing that Aziraphale has ever made himself say. “Besides, even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.” Crowley gapes at him, and he clenches his fists and plants his feet to keep from stepping forward and enveloping his demon in a tight embrace. “We are, after all, on opposite sides.”

Crowley angrily gestures between them. ‘OUR SIDE.’

If Aziraphale had thought before was hard, this was heart shattering. “Not anymore. I still am Bound by Heaven, and I can no longer go against them. It’s done, Crowley. It’s over. Go.”

Crowley has never looked more broken and lost in his life. He gulps, then nods before turning and walking away, never looking back.

Aziraphale feels his world shatter, and he collapses, tears pouring from his face. He’s done the right thing. He’s done the right thing. He’s done the…

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AM I DOING?!” He has to make this right. He shoots to his feet and runs after the demon. “Crowley, STOP!”

Crowley stops, shoulders hunched. Aziraphale comes around so he can look in his face. The demon’s head is bowed. “Crowley, please look at me.” An angry shake of the head. “Please?” Aziraphale pleads softly, and tear filled yellow eyes peek up from dark glasses. “I am so sorry. You’re right. We need to figure this out together. Forgive me?”

‘Yes.’

Aziraphale squeezes his hand. “Now, there’s something I need to get from the shop. I’ll meet you at your flat. Say, twenty minutes?”

Crowley nods, and Aziraphale squeezes his hand again before setting off.

Crowley’s heart is racing. They found him. How did they find him? What were they doing here? He has to figure something out! From below, he can hear Ligur. “Going to get you, little snake. Going to eat...you...up.” Crowley gulps as he pours the Holy Water into the bucket, setting it carefully above the door, then looks at his watch. Five more minutes until Aziraphale gets here. Hopefully, if this trap doesn’t work, Angel will get to do some Smiting.

“Nowhere to hide, little snake. We want to have some fun before the Big One.”

Crowley forces himself to stay calm as the door to his flat opens.

“Hello, little snake.” Ligur’s grin can only be described as Hellish. He steps forward, and the bucket lands right on his head. Ligur screams as the Holy Water does its work, reducing him to a pile of sludge on the floor. Hastur snarls at him.

“You worthless little shit, you’ll pay for that! I am going to hurt you so badly they’ll whisper of it in the Deepest Pits!” He stalks forward, and Crowley presses himself against the wall, whimpering silently in terror. Where the Heaven was the angel when he needed him?!

“Nowhere to run, little snake.” Hastur is so close now that Crowley can smell the sulfur on his breath. The silent demon gulps. _**‘What am I going to do?!’**_ He can’t call anyone...he...CALL! Crowley fumbles into his back pocket, fingers flying as he unlocks his mobile. He has only seconds to act. Hastur reaches for him, then stops when a ringing sound fills the flat. “What the?”

Crowley jumps, flowing into his phone.

“Oh no you don’t, you little shit!” Hastur jumps after him and they race through the phone lines. At a junction, Crowley skids to a halt, spins, and rockets himself forward, pouring out of his landline and into the empty flat. He slams the phone down on the cradle, grinning in relieved triumph at Hastur’s scream of rage on his machine. “YOU SNAKE!”

Crowley grabs his keys, bolts out of his flat, and heads at breakneck speed towards the book shop.

He’s three streets away when he sees the smoke. At first, he refuses to believe what he’s seeing. Then a part of him thinks that there’s no way it’s not Aziraphale’s shop. Maybe it’s that sex shop next door. Maybe someone decided to have a barbecue in the middle of a Soho street.

Crowley has experienced many emotions in his existence. The pain of having his Voice ripped from him. The anger at Falling. But nothing compares to the emptiness he feels when he stares at the burning building that once held a book shop. His body moves forward, and he enters, eyes blank. Where...where is his angel? Why can’t he feel Aziraphale? He can always feel Aziraphale. Always. They were Bonded. That had been the last thing Crowley had done, before Gabriel destroyed everything. The only way a Soul Bond could be lost was if…

_**If the other Being was Gone.** _

Crowley’s world shatters. He sinks to his knees in the burning book shop, head thrown back in a silent scream of agony and rage.

He’s not quite sure of the sequence of events after that. He must have gotten out of the building at some point, because he’s sitting in a bar, several empty bottles of liquor in front of him and a partially burnt book next to him. He doesn’t remember paying for them, or grabbing the book. He stares off into space, feeling himself start to slip into the catatonic state he was in once before. But at least with that, he had still been able to feel his angel. This was worse. This felt like he was slowly dying. He wants to scream his rage to Heaven, scream it so loud that it shatters the ear drums of that bastard Gabriel.

“Crowley?”

Crowley’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Aziraphale?!’

“Crowley, are you there? I can’t see.”

Crowley’s hand trembles as he taps on the table. ‘I AM.’ He blinks. Aziraphale looks...ghostly.

“Oh, thank Heaven. I ran into a bit of trouble at the shop. I was...trying to reach Heaven, see if something could be done, and Shadwell showed up. Long story short, got kicked into the Summoning Circle without proper preparation and got myself rather inconveniently discorporated.”

‘I’LL KILL HIM.’

“Please don’t. The man is an incompetent buffoon, but he meant no lasting harm. My only regret is that I left a very important book there. I was trying to get back.”

‘GONE.’

“Gone? What’s gone?”

‘SHOP. BURNED. GONE.’

Aziraphale’s face twists in grief. “All of it?”

‘YES. WHAT BOOK?’

“The Nice and Accurate...”

Crowley bangs on the table. ‘AGNES NUTTER! HERE! SOUVENIR!’

“Oh, you brilliant boy!” Aziraphale beams, and Crowley feels a rush of elation. “Look in it, I made notes. We have to go to the airbase. I just need to find a body.”

‘COULD USE ME.’

“Better not. There might be a...rather volatile reaction. Angel, Demon.”

‘RIGHT. I’LL MEET YOU AT AIRBASE.’

Aziraphale nods, then vanishes. Crowley, feeling more elated than he ever has, runs out of the bar.

The M 25 is on fire. Crowley gazes bleakly at the ring of flames. Why the Heaven he had thought turning it into the Sigil of Odegra had been a good idea escapes him. He’s pretty sure that the decision process had involved plentiful amounts of wine, though. Now he’s caught in a trap of his own making and the end of the world is just through the fire. To make things even worse, Hastur chooses this exact moment to appear in the passenger seat. “Hello, Crawley. You’re done for now. Nothing can escape that. I’m going to drag you back to Hell and then we’re going to play.”

Crowley is tired. He is scared. But most of all, he is enraged. He grins at Hastur, then presses his foot to the accelerator. The Bentley leaps forward, steadily gaining speed. “Slow down.” Faster. “I said slow down!”

Crowley flips him off, and presses harder. The Bentley crashes into the wall of flame. Hastur screams in horror, a sound that is music to Crowley’s ears, and vanishes. Crowley grips the wheel, eyes flaming and teeth bared. He has had this car from new. It is NOT GOING TO BURN.

He bursts out of the other side, car aflame and grinning in mad triumph.

He manages to make it to the airfield before the car explodes. Aziraphale is there, inhabiting the body of a very nice sex worker and fortune teller named Madame Tracy. Shadwell is also there for some unknown reason, and Aziraphale has to not so gently remind Crowley that “Taking revenge on the Sergeant will have to wait, my dear, we are trying to stop the End of the world.”

But as it turns out, they don’t really have to do much. Adam, the young Antichrist, has no desire to end it all, and he and his three human friends effectively take out three of the four Horsemen. Anathema, the young lady with the bicycle, and direct descendant of Agnes, stops the nuclear missiles launching with the help of her technology destroying boyfriend. Death, who cannot be destroyed without destroying the universe, bows its head in respect. ‘FAREWELL.’

Then Gabriel and Beezlebub appear and try to get Adam to start the whole mess up again. Adam refuses, and the Archangel and Prince of Hell are forced to make their armies stand down. “Your father will hear about thizz, Adam. And he will not be happy.” The two of them vanish.

“Well, that went quite...” Aziraphale is cut off when the ground trembles. “What the…?”

Crowley collapses to the tarmac, face strained in a rictus of pain. He barely manages to tap out a response. ‘HE’S COMING. SATAN. NOT HAPPY. WE ARE SO FUCKED.’

“Well, isn’t there anything you can do?!”

‘WHAT WOULD YOU SUGGEST?!’

“I don’t know! Think of something! You’re clever! That’s what you do!”

‘SORRY, ALL TAPPED OUT. NICE KNOWING YOU.’

Aziraphale grabs up the sword that belonged to War, the sword that was once his. With a flick of his wrists, it bursts into flames once more. “COME UP WITH SOMETHING, OR...I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN!”

Crowley gapes at him, then stands up and reaches towards the Heavens, and Aziraphale feels a Surge of Power as Time stops.

It doesn’t take long after that. Adam changes reality so that he was never the Antichrist, and mortals and immortals part ways.

A very tired angel and demon sit on a bus bench, passing a bottle of wine between them. “I suppose I should be getting back to the shop.”

‘It burned down, Angel. Come stay with me.’

Aziraphale takes a long swallow. “Of course. Oh! Here!” He pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “When you gave the Book back to that young lady, this fell out.” He hands it over.

WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE,

CHOOSE YOUR FACES WISELY,

FOR SOON YOU WILL BE PLAYING WITH FIRE

“I can’t quite figure out what it means, but it’s the Last Prophecy in the Book.”

‘Home first, then riddles from an old dead witch.’

“I quite agree.”

THE NEXT DAY, IN HELL

Aziraphale tries not to giggle as he ducks under the water once again, relishing the cries of horror from the assembled demons. He’s very glad he and Crowley figured out Agnes’ last prophecy. It saved a lot of trouble, and he is getting a very lovely bath out of it. He surfaces, wishing he had a rubber duck to squeak.

“I’ve come for the...Oh my lord.”

Aziraphale grins at Michael and makes a drying off motion. She gulps, and a towel appears in her hands. He grins at her then steps out of the tub and wraps it around his waist, hair dripping. He makes a motion of writing, and she reluctantly hands over a miracled piece of paper and a quill.

‘LEAVE ME ALONE.’ He snaps his fingers and an identical parchment appears in Beezlebub’s hands. They nod. Aziraphale smiles, gives a flourishing bow, and saunters as best as he can towards the lift that will take him out of this dreadful place.

“Zophiel.”

Aziraphale freezes, then turns so fast to face Beezlebub that his head spins. What had they said?! What...who..

The Prince looks almost contrite. “Zophiel, I never told you. But I need to now. I am sorry. Sorry for everything.”

Aziraphale’s head is spinning. He can’t think. He manages a smile, then turns and runs towards the lift. He barely manages to make it inside before he collapses. The blocks on his memory shatters, and he remembers everything.

FLASHBACK: HEAVEN, BEFORE THE WAR AND THE FALL

Aziraphale sits on a cloud bank, resolutely telling himself that he will NOT cry. He is an angel. Angels do not cry. Gabriel has made that very clear. Crying is for weaklings, and Aziraphale doesn’t want to be seen as a weakling, now does he. He doesn’t…

“Oh, BUGGER AND BLAST IT ALL!” He swipes at his eyes, vision blurring as the tears fall.

“Are you okay?” The voice is soft, almost melodious, and Aziraphale looks up into the golden eyes of one of the Seraphim. The other angel looks concerned.

“ ‘M fine. Leame ‘lone,” the Principality mumbles, embarrassed at being caught crying by a bloody Seraph.

“Nah, don’t think I will.” The Seraph plonks himself down next to Aziraphale. “You have a name?”

“ ‘Ziraphle. Go ‘way.” He doesn’t want sympathy. He wants to be left alone to wallow in his misery. But this Seraph doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Well, Ziraphle Go ‘Way, my name’s Zophiel.”

This gets his attention. “The Star Maker?!” A grin and a shrug. “Oh, you did such a lovely job! They’re so beautiful!”

Zophiel laughs, and Aziraphale’s heart does a funny little flip. “Job’s not even half done. I’m taking a break. Resting my vocal chords. Harder than it looks, singing galaxies to existence. Now, are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset, or will I have to use one of my Songs of Compulsion on you?”

Aziraphale speaks one word. “Gabriel.”

“Ahh, say no more. Right prick, isn’t he?” Aziraphale nods. “Yeah. Had my run ins with him too. He really doesn’t like me. Look, Zira...”

“Aziraphale.”

Zophiel beams. “Aziraphale. Why don’t you come watch me Sing the Stars? It’ll get your mind off things.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

BACK IN THE ELEVATOR TO HELL

Aziraphale is curled up on the cold floor, tears pouring from Crowley’s face as he remembers…

“ _ **Zophiel, you made this for us?”**_

“ _ **Of course, Angel. We’re two halves of a whole, after all. I’m going to call it Alpha Centauri.”**_

“ _ **OH! You brilliant creature!”**_

He remembers…

“ _ **Zophiel...you..what you’re asking me...”**_

“ _ **I know what I’m asking, oh Protector. Will you Bond with me?”**_

“ _ **Yes.”**_

He remembers…

Remembers hearing a scream of pain so loud that it shakes the very Gates of Heaven. Remembers flying as fast as he could, knowing deep in his heart that the scream was Zophiel. Remembers reaching the edge just in time to see his other half Fall. Then Gabriel...Gabriel had…

Rage unlike anything he’s ever known fills Aziraphale. Gabriel had stolen Zophiel’s Voice, then MADE AZIRAPHALE FORGET.

First things first, he thinks. Find Crowley, make sure he’s safe. Then he is going to get his Revenge on the Archangel that tore them apart.

Crowley is in his flat, and he sags in relief when Aziraphale walks through the door. ‘Angel, thank Someone...what’s wrong?’ Aziraphale motions for them to swap back. Crowley takes his hand, and they flow back into their bodies.

“I remember everything.” Crowley gapes at him. “Zophiel. I remember EVERYTHING.”

Crowley falls forward into his arms, body shaking. He remembers, his Angel remembers!

Aziraphale holds his love tightly, their tears mingling. “I’m here, my dearest one. I have always been here. It’s always been us. Nothing will Part us, not ever again. I Swear by Our Bond.”

And Light returns to Crowley’s world.


	6. Avenging Aziraphale

Chapter Six: Avenging Aziraphale

BANG.

Gabriel can hear the sound, even this far up on the ninetieth floor. It’s the Gates. Someone, or something, is trying to gain access. But Gabriel’s not too worried. The Gatekeeper will be able to handle it. After all, that is his Job.

BANG.

This time the noise is louder, and Gabriel grasps his desk as the floor shakes. Whatever is trying to get in is very determined. He sighs, wondering if perhaps he should send one of the lesser angels to talk to whoever is attempting to break into Heaven. He presses a buzzer on his desk, and an angel appears in front of him, saluting. “Yes Sir!” It’s one of the nameless ten billion. Gabriel gives it his best ‘I’m your boss and buddy’ smile. “Do me a favor, will you? Go to the Gates and tell whoever it is to please leave. They’re causing a disturbance.” Before the angel can carry out the order, there is a Heaven shaking

KAWHAM!

Gabriel and the Unnamed Angel go flying, landing in an ungraceful pile of feathers on the floor, which has cracked down the middle. Screams can now be heard coming faintly from below, and Gabriel can smell the telltale odor of burning angels. Hell. It has to be Hell. They decided to start the War after all. Gabriel kicks the angel away from him and stands, manifesting his own sword. “MICHAEL! IT’S STARTING!”

The other Archangel appears in his office, paler than he’s ever seen her. “You fucking idiot. This isn’t Hell. This is worse.” She smiles grimly, and Gabriel is shocked to realize that she’s covered in blood and burns. “Think the only reason he didn’t kill me was because I just followed out your orders. I had to beg for it, though.” She laughs, and the sound chills Gabriel’s blood. “Imagine that! The Archangel Michael, Leader of the Armies in the Great War, begging for her life!” The screams are louder now, and Michael looks over her shoulder. “He’s coming, Gabriel. He’s killing anyone who stands in his way. He...” She giggles again, teetering on the edge of insanity. “He tore Sandalphon in half. Uriel...they’re ashes. Raphael was spared, but he’ll never be the same. I’m getting the fuck out of here before he changes his mind and decides to kill me after all. If you had an ounce of brains, you’d do the same thing.”

She vanishes, and Gabriel blinks in shock before turning to the other angel. “You! Lackey! You have a sword?”

The angel gulps. “Yes Sir, Gabriel Sir.” It manifests its sword, holding it by the pointy end. Gabriel gives a long suffering sigh and corrects its grip.

“Good. Now, I want you to guard the door. Don’t let anyone through, understand?” The angel nods, taking up what it thinks is a fighting stance.

“Yes Sir! I won’t...” There is a flash of what Gabriel realizes is Heaven Fire, and the Nameless Angel screams in pain before dissolving in a flash of light. Gabriel’s sword clatters to the floor and he gapes in disbelief at the angel in the doorway.

“Hello, Gabriel, me old mate.”

“Aziraphale?!”

Aziraphale smiles. “Surprise! Thought I’d come and clear up a few things.” He’s holding a sword...The Flaming Sword, and it’s aflame. “Have a little heart to heart, so to speak. Talk about shoes and ships and sealing wax and memories and vengeance.”

“V...vengeance? For what?” Gabriel starts to crouch down for his sword, but before he can move the tip of the Flaming Sword is pointed at his throat. How the HELL was Aziraphale able to move that fast?!

“Please don’t try that again. I would hate to have to chop your hands off.” Aziraphale’s tone is as polite as ever, but his eyes are burning in rage. “You didn’t honestly think you could make me forget Zophiel for good, did you?”

“How…?”

Aziraphale giggles. “Well, let’s just say a little buzzy fly told me, and that set things in motion.” He tilts his head, grinning a mad grin. “You know, I was all for simply killing you. I was going to use my Sword and cut off your worthless head, then burn you so you couldn’t ever come back. But as my love reminded me, that’s not who I am.”

Gabriel glances towards the door. If he can keep this mad angel talking, perhaps he can create enough of a distraction so he can escape! “Who are you, then?”

Aziraphale presses the tip closer. “Did you ever wonder why Mother gave me this sword, and not you or Michael? After all, you were both the soldiers, and I was just a ‘Protector’”. He says the last word in a harsh, angry tone. “You were constantly reminding me of how weak I was. But if that were true, than why give one of Heaven’s most powerful weapons, one that can kill both demons and angels, to a weakling?”

“Mistake.”

Aziraphale cackles. “Oh, our Mother is many things, but She doesn’t make mistakes. No, I thought the same for a long, long time. But then I figured it out. What’s the definition of what I do? I Protect. I Guard from harm. Mother didn’t give me the Sword to fight. She gave it to me so I could Protect.” He leans in, pressing the sword against Gabriel’s throat, drawing a fine line of blood. “Now. Back to you. You stole my Other Half from me. You ripped out his Voice, destroyed his Purpose, and cast him down over petty jealousy, because he made the stars so much more beautiful than you ever could. He endured torments in Hell that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Still, as I said, you have him to thank as the reason why I’m not killing you.”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to his sword. It’s right there, right in reach. He just...has...to… Gabriel lunges faster than any mortal eye could see. He’ll get his sword, and then this stupid little weakling will…

Blood comes up in his mouth in a tidal wave, and he chokes, looking down in horrified disbelief at the Flaming Sword that is now buried to the hilt in his chest. Aziraphale’s gaze is serene. “Said...wouldn’t...kill..” Gabriel is choking on his own blood.

“Oh, I’m not. I missed your heart. Then again, I wasn’t aiming for it.” The Protector manifests his wings, and Gabriel is blinded by the flare of Holy Light. There is a flapping sound, and suddenly they are in space, floating near a…

“Is that a black hole?!” Gabriel tries screaming, but his voice is lost in the ether. Aziraphale nods.

“I watched Zophiel make this one. Didn’t really understand why he made it at first, but he said it was because Entropy is just as important as Chaos and Order are. He used a lot of very fancy words, too.” Aziraphale twists the Sword. “You stole that from him, too. His eloquence. He writes beautifully, but it’s not the same. Now. To you.”

“What are you going to do? Just leave me here, floating around a black hole?”

Aziraphale looks shocked. “Heavens, no! If I did that, there would be the chance that you could come back! I’m going to throw you into it.” He smiles, and Gabriel shivers. “But first things first.” Aziraphale grips the hilt of his Sword with both hands and YANKS. Gabriel’s scream is silent and echoing. When the sword is completely out, there is a bright purple flame dancing on top of it. And terror like he’s never known fills Gabriel. “You stole my love’s Voice, so I’m stealing your...well, it’s not really courage, is it. Hasn’t been for a while. So let’s just call it Bravado.” A swing of the Sword, and the flame is gone.

The last thing Gabriel sees before the black hole sucks him into its depths is the look of triumph on Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale extinguishes the Sword, sheathing it in the Ether he pulled it from. He flaps his wings, pulling himself out of the pull of the black hole. Funny, he thinks to himself, he had thought he would feel guilty about this. But instead he feels relief. It won’t stop Crowley’s nightmares, but at least Gabriel and the other angels will never hurt either of them ever again.

Crowley has been pacing around the back room of the shop ever since Aziraphale left, his mind conjuring up steadily worsening scenarios. He jumps in horror when Heavenly Light manifests behind him, dropping to his knees with his hands over his head. This is it. He braces himself for the Killing Blow.

A hand falls on his shoulder and he twists, falling to the floor, curling up on himself and whimpering silently. “Crowley?”

He jerks upright, staring in amazed shock at Aziraphale. His hands come forward, shaking so much that he has trouble Signing. “You. Alive.” Aziraphale nods, and Crowley flies into his arms, clutching him so tightly that the angel gasps for breath. He loosens his grip...but only a little. He breathes in his scent, tears flowing.

Aziraphale clings just as tight. “It’s over, my sweet. Gabriel, the others, they will never hurt you again.”

‘Don’t ever leave. Don’t ever forget.’ Crowley traces the words onto Aziraphale’s skin, and the angel presses a kiss to his hair.

“Never.”

Crowley sighs in relief. He knows that the journey to healing will take a long time, but with his angel by his side, he is ready to face Eternity.

For the first time in a long time, Crowley feels Hope.


End file.
